To Sleep, To Dream
by Dimitri Aidan
Summary: Sirius returns through the Veil but finds Harry, Remus, and, especially, himself different then before. He intends to do things right this time around but it may be too late for it to matter. RLSB, Dark. CrowSpawn themes.
1. I Can’t Pretend its All Right

To Sleep, To Dream

AKA: The Crow: Dogs and Demons

D: I got an e-mail last night from the goddess JK and she said that, while Remus and Sirius are meant for each other, she wasn't sure how to go about it and so gave the boys to me to see it brought to life. And then…I woke up. Sigh.

Authors: Dimitri Aidan (Master of the Plot), Aloysha Star (Resident Dark Comic Expert), and Rochelle B (Obligatory Heterosexual.)

Beta: Mechante Fille

Rating: T/PG-13 at first, M/R or NC-17 eventually. Depends on where you encounter it.

Pairings: Remus/Sirius, Snape/Narcissa, Harry/Bill, Ron/Hermione, Draco/Ginny, Charlie/Tonks, and some other things that are still being worked out.

Warnings: …Dark Fiction is the name of the game. You're in the hands of an admittedly sick freak, an obsessed fan girl, and a boy whose mind is always on. It could get odd.

Notes: This is a sordid mixture of The Crow, Spawn, and mythology. All of the elements will become more obvious as time goes on, but at the moment Crow is the most obvious.

Inspirational Lyrics: _I Can't Pretend it's all right, maybe we'll find a way somehow. Why do we need to turn it on, why does it always feel so wrong? What do you need from me tonight; the truth is so complicated now. _(Go Goo Dolls, What Do You Need?)

Summery: Sometimes a person dies and not even coming back as a ghost can satisfy the soul. Sometimes a spirit is allowed another chance to make things right. Sometimes death is just the beginning.

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Chapter One

I Can't Pretend its All Right

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Something was dripping on his face, cool and utterly refreshing. His entire body was hot and damp with sweat but at the same time he was shivering. While his skin was burning he felt almost frigid on the inside. The liquid falling onto him was welcome, helping to bring the outside and the inside together.

"Sirius." A soft voice, breathy and sweet and so familiar it almost ached. "Open your eyes Sirius, please, it's time."

He wanted to open his eyes, to see her, but his body wouldn't cooperate. He couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't even breath let alone open his eyes as she requested. There was a sigh then a warm hand caressed his cheek, fingers lingering over his eyes.

"Sirius-"

"Padfoot! Get your worthless arse into gear mate! We certainly don't have forever to waste on you." An exasperated, but amused, voice shouted right in his ear and he flinched away before his eardrums could be further offended.

"Actually we do." She corrected and he could hear the smile in her voice. The warmth of her tone seeped into his body, chasing away the numbness and returning feeling. "Have forever that is."

"Pft. I have better things to do with my eternity than play with this wanker, thank you very much." His tone was playful, but gentle. His moved his fingers, curling and uncurling the digits.

"Like what, fish?" He could imagine green eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Your mocking wounds me Lils, truly." There was a heavy sigh to punctuate that statement then a chuckle. "My fishing skills are quite impressive."

"Ngh."

"Ha. See, Sirius is half-awake and even he knows a terrible lie when he hears it." The hand was back on his cheek and, finally, he opened his eyes and looked up at the hazy figure smiling down at him. He blinked, trying to clear up his vision and bring the image into focus.

Emerald green eyes glinted down at him, matching the smile curving full pink lips. Dark red ringlets fell around the heart shaped face and brushed over his face with feather light touches. A silver locket, made in the shape of a lion instead of the traditional heart, hung from around her neck and led his gaze to the flowing white gossamer dress she was wearing. She seemed to glow with an inner, ethereal light and when her hand went up to brush her hair back behind her ear the simple gold band seemed to glow as well.

"Hello Sirius."

"Lily."

"Mmhmm."

"You…you…beautiful."

The angelic image faltered, becoming more familiar, as she smirked. "I suppose I should be flattered, but I remember the people you used to date."

He scowled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She shrugged. "Simply that you preferred them north of six-feet, pale, skinny and-"

"Male. Can't forget that. Our dear Padfoot liked to wank other blokes." James face appeared in his line of sight, shit-eating grin firmly in place. His hair was as messy as ever, yet somehow it didn't seem as annoying as it had used to. His glasses were gone, displaying deep blue eyes, and he had the same internal glow as his wife.

Neither looked a day older than the last time he'd seen them.

That thought was like a bucket of water, completely dousing the warm fuzzy feeling that had been growing inside of him. He sat upright, making Lily and James jump back to avoid him. Lily arched an eyebrow and James just blinked.

"Uh, Pads-"

"This is a trick." He said, more to himself than to them. And a very disgusting vile trick at that. Impersonating Lily and James to…to what? Get him to give information on Harry or the Order no doubt. Well, it certainly wouldn't work. "This is…foul. How dare you-"

"He's going to start ranting isn't he?" Lily sighed, shaking her head.

"It would seem. Perhaps we should go for a walk and leave him to his righteous indignation for the time being?" James suggested lightly.

"Stop it! Stop pretending to be them! You aren't!"

"Oh?" Lily's look of smug amusement was so real, so like the expression she'd worn whenever they'd gotten caught sneaking out past curfew or needed help with their latest prank and were forced to seek her aid. Even before she was James' girl she'd been like a sister: the only girl who was always honest and dared to challenge them.

The first time they'd spoken Sirius had asked her for her Transfiguration notes, figuring she'd do what all the other girls did and give them up with a big smile. She'd sneered, tossed her hair back over her shoulder, and loftily told him to go bugger himself. For Sirius it'd been devotion at first insult.

James had then inquired, out loud much to Sirius' dismay, whether that would be a form of incest or masturbation. Remus had muttered about how utterly foul they were in front of even girls and Lily had promptly given her opinion on the matter and suggesting that if James was so concerned, perhaps he should try it as well, before proclaiming her ears weren't too delicate for a bunch of filthy minded tossers like them.

She was different from all other girls and maybe that was why she'd been the only one to pierce the ranks of the Marauders. Sirius had joked that she'd ruined the rest of them for women forever and she'd always respond, with a smirk, that he had been ruined for women long before she came along.

Still, this was so close. Too close. Lily had been sweet and benign to most people, keeping her sarcastic wit and acid tongue carefully hidden. She'd been a lot like Remus that way. Everyone thought Remus was so nice and unassuming and calm and collected and the one who'd just been dragged along. In reality Remus was probably the single meanest person Sirius had ever met. He could cut even the strongest and thickest skinned of people to shreds with his 'sparkling wit' alone. Just because he didn't do it often people over looked it, but that was part of why Remus had been the best. You never saw it coming.

And he'd do it with a cheerful smile as well. The werewolf had always had a certain…chilling darkness to him. Still, it had been hidden behind soft patient smiles, just like Lily. They'd both kept them real selves so carefully hidden from the rest…how could these imposters know?

No one had known…Peter. Peter must have been helping, that filthy worm. He'd gut him…

"Lily and James are dead." He muttered. "Just face me and end this."

"And to think, he's the bright one." Lily rolled her eyes.

James frowned. "I thought I was the bright one."

She sighed, shaking her head. "I also told you that you were the cute one James. I was just trying to get into your pants."

"I feel so used."

Lily snickered then leaned forward so that Sirius was forced to look directly into her eyes. "We're dead. You're dead; your bitch cousin knocked you through the veil and no one survives that. I never liked her you know. This is the afterlife. We're your guides to the place good souls go to. Any questions?"

"I…I died? Bella…I don't remember." He reached up and scrubbed at his eyes. He couldn't be dead. He'd…he'd what? He remembered…his old home. Being there, hiding out. Then…Harry at the Ministry. Taunting Bella, because that was what he did, and then…then here.

"No, I…no."

"Mm. Sorry about that mate." James clapped him on the shoulder then stood up, brushing grass off of the white pants he was wearing. "We can talk more across the bridge. It's time to move on."

"Move on." He murmured, feeling a strange tug as the words left his lips. Yes. Move on. It seemed so…right to him. He had to move on. He stood up as well, watching as Lily gathered up a bowl of water and a washcloth.

They were standing in the middle of a forest. Trees of all kinds stretched out around him, reaching up to touch the calm blue skies. Everything seemed to be in…hyper-color. Greens like he'd never seen in the trees and grass, a perfect blue, purples and reds and yellows on the flowers that couldn't be real. The air was sweet and touched with the light scent of the wildflowers.

The only thing that was different from the rest of the scene was a long wooden walking bridge leading from the clearing they were in over a drop off then across emptiness to another drop off. Sirius wandered close to it, Lily and James flanking him on each side and glanced down. An ink black river raged below, white caps rising up and breaking against jagged rocks. He could hear a low mournful wail on the wind and it sent a shiver up his spine.

"What-"

"Styx. Lost souls, returning to earth as ghosts. They have unfinished business." James' voice was soft in his ear and he noted absently that he couldn't feel the other's man breath. Did they even breathe after they died? It was all so surreal and his mind felt…fuzzy all of a sudden, as if stuffed full of cotton balls until all of thoughts were pressed against the sides of his mind and impossible to really grasp and hold on to.

It didn't bother him so he let it slip the side.

"Unfinished?" He tilted his head off to the side, feeling one of the cotton balls vanish. Something cold replaced it.

"Yes. If a person dies unhappy or worried or angry they can come back as spirits." Lily shrugged and grabbed him by the arm to lead him to the bridge. "No concern to us though. We have nothing to worry about."

Nothing to worry about. He James stepped on first, Lily after him, and then he placed a foot on the bridge, which swayed gently in the light breeze. They had nothing to worry about. He glanced over the side again, even as he followed them over.

Amber eyes stared at him, wide and momentarily bewildered, before he was enveloped in a hug and it was so much like before, when everything had been right. It was like…belonging again. This was real, not another nightmare or image to drive him mad. Some of the darkness in him, fathomless and consuming darkness that had nearly torn apart his mind, left and he could breathe.

More of the cotton dissolved and the cold spread out throughout his body. He blinked, looking over at James and Lily who were still walking. Wait…had he stopped? He looked at his feet, a little confused, and indeed he was no longer moving. When had that happened?

They were getting away, farther away, and part of him screamed to hurry up. He couldn't lose them again. He'd lost so much. They were his family, the only family that mattered, he couldn't lose them again. He could lose anymore family…

Just like James, but with the same mischievous, intelligent, challenging eyes as Lily. He was eager, wanted to live with Sirius the moment he suggested it and the dank chill that clung to the very marrow of his bones fled from a small spark of warmth. They could be a family. It would be far from perfect, not the way he'd thought all those years ago, but still…it could be okay.

"Harry." The name fell from his lips like a prayer. As one Lily and James turned, eyes going wide with something resembling horror. "Harry. Remus. I…"

The chill bubbled, became heat. Rage. It was rage, pulsing throughout him. Rage at them, for daring to walk across the bridge, rage at him for daring to forget for even a moment, rage at Bella for doing this to him, rage at Snape for not watching Harry closer, rage…

Rage. Just rage.

"Sirius no, don't." Lily took a step towards him, shoving James. "Don't do this. It's okay."

"No! How can you not have unfinished business? Your son is…alone. Remus is alone. How could you not want to go back?"

"Dying didn't mean we knew the future Sirius. We thought you'd be together. We had no idea…" James' eyes lost their warmth and turned solemn. "Come with us. It will work out."

"Because it's worked out so well thus far, right? He's with those terrible people with the entire world watching and judging, under a bloody magnifying glass! He's only got two friends to his name and…it's not working out. And Remus…god, Remus." He put a hand to his head, groaning softly. "Remus. How could you want me to leave him alone?"

"You can't fix this Pads, please. It's not your fight anymore."

"Yes. It is." He said eyes darting over to the river. He had to go back. There was a rumble like thunder and then lightening streaked over the sky, which was suddenly dark stormy purple. A wind blew, howling furiously. "I have to fix this."

"If you do this you might not have another chance. You could be lost forever." Lily's voice was strangely hollow and echoing as if from far away.

Sirius glanced back one last time. Lily and James were mere dots at the other end of the bridge, far too far away to reach now. He quelled the part of him that wanted to join them and gripped the rail of the rope bridge, which were really just three thick lengths of rope braided together. He put one leg over, almost slipping, then the other. He looked down at the raging river, swallowing.

The sky exploded in a shower of rain, angry and screaming. It burned him where his skin was exposed, causing small red welts to rise up all over. He looked up at the sky, taking one hand off the rope to shield his eyes from the rain. His foot moved, unbidden and the world dropped away.

Then he was falling, tumbling through the air in a freefall. The bridge was a mere memory now, no longer real to him. All there was now was the river of ink and screams.

He smacked it hard, pinpricks of pain crawling all over his skin like tiny stinging insects while skeletal hands reached up and pulled him down beneath the surface. Water flooded his mouth and nose, flowing into is lungs and burning him all over like acid. Low moans sounded in his ear, echoing in his brain, and vacant watery eyes peered at him from long tortured faces.

They called to him to give in as they were, to become wandering spirits and accept his fate. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the strange slow pulse of the river and sinking. There was light above him but the more he sank the darker it became until it was nothing at all.

A ghost. A figment. Transparent, untouchable, with no magic, forever tethered to one area and…completely useless to everyone. He hadn't given up Lily and James again to be a ghost, to just watch Harry and Remus from afar and be able to do nothing.

No. He kicked his legs, ignoring the fact that his lungs felt as if they were melting and bubbling inside of him, ignoring the way his eyes seemed to be burning in his face, and reached for the light that he knew was there. He reached, feeling the rage once again. He wouldn't just exist, he would change things. He wouldn't leave them alone, not now, not like this.

It was cold all around him and claw like fingers scrapped over his skin, drawing blood, which swirled in the waters around him. They wanted to drag him back down, to make him suffer their fate as well. He ignored them and kept climbing. The light danced in front of him, teasing him with its promise. He got closer and the hands scratched deeper as they roared with rage. They knew it was ineffective and were quite upset about it.

Served those damn spirits right. It was going to take more than some moaning and scratching to rattle him. He'd lived in Azkaban for twelve years and survived his mother. Nothing could possibly compare to the horrors he'd seen.

Warmth fanned against his hand and finally, finally, he touched the light.

And went tumbling onto a freezing stone floor. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, chest heaving, when a soft voice whispered in his ear, soothing his nerves.

"The wolf is your guide." And then, slightly more sarcastic. "Try to be good this time Padfoot. You might make it back to us one day."

He could only snicker weakly as darkness started to creep over him and blotted out the world.

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Dimitri: Mmm…snarky Lily and James. Fun. Anyway. Chapter one, now in sparkling new 'edited vision'!


	2. All the Answers

To Sleep, To Dream

AKA: The Crow: Dogs and Demons

Chelle: Trust me, if I owned HP I wouldn't be writing fan fiction, I wouldn't be driving my husband's old beat up car, and I wouldn't be taking student loans out the whazoo for college.

Authors: Dimitri Aidan, Aloysha Star, and Rochelle B

Beta: Mechante Fille

Rating: T/PG-13 at first, M/R or NC-17 eventually. Depends on where you encounter it.

Pairings: Remus/Sirius, Snape/Narcissa, Harry/Bill, Ron/Hermione, Draco/Ginny, Charlie/Tonks, and some other things that are still being worked out.

Warnings: …Dark Fiction is the name of the game. You're in the hands of an admittedly sick freak, an obsessed fan girl, and a boy whose mind is always on. It could get odd.

Notes: Harry might be a wee bit fucked up. I blame Plot Boy and Comic Man. Not that you should call Dimi Plot Boy to his face, he's taking the whole 'boy' thing really seriously these days.

Inspirational Lyrics: _Could you let your hair down be transparent for a little while, just a little while, to see if you're human after all… Well let me be the first to say I don't have a clue I don't have all the answers. But I gotta pretend like I do._

"Speech"

'Thoughts/inner voices'

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Flashbacks/Flash 'forward'

'Written things'

XX Scene Change XX

00 Passage of Time 00

Summary: Sometimes a person dies and not even coming back as a ghost can satisfy the soul. Sometimes a spirit is allowed another chance to make things right. Sometimes death is just the beginning.

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Chapter Two

All the Answers

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Harry pushed up his glasses, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, then looked across the room at Ron and Hermione, who had fallen asleep curled up on the couch. Ron had fingers curled around a lock of Hermione's hair, while her face was buried in the crook of his neck.

They'd wake up blushing, stuttering, and denying, but, for the moment anyway, it seemed very right. He let his gaze drift back to the essay he was supposed to writing for Professor Annica for History of Dark Arts. He was two years out of Hogwarts and had allowed Hermione to convince him to come to Avalon University of Further Magical Study. He was in the first few months of his second year.

It hadn't taken much convincing on her part, to be fair. He'd been considering it before she'd insisted it would be good for him.

He let his quill drop and leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting over to the window. The moon was bright, in spite of only a sliver being lit.

Halloween was a day away and he'd been thinking of leaving the campus and checking in on Remus again. He tried to stop by once a month at least, though rarely more. Remus was…different than he used to be. He wasn't the same man who'd taught Harry in his third year or even the same man who'd seen him into his uncle's custody after his fifth year.

He was just…a shadow. An echo of the real Remus. Remus was gone. It'd taken time for Harry to really understand it, but Remus was dying. Purposefully. The man thought that Harry couldn't see it, was truly so dense that his poor health, drinking, and the like would just go over his head. To Remus' credit they had gone unnoticed for a while, but he wasn't the same naïve child he'd once been.

Sometimes he wished he was.

Being that boy would mean that Sirius was still alive, that Neville was still alive, that the twins were still alive, that Dumbledore was still alive. Being this…this man, who had seen his best friends and family die before his eyes, meant that it was all real. He would love to pretend, for just a little while, that everything was right with the world.

But it wasn't. Maybe it never would be.

Dumbledore was gone and so Voldemort had become more bold, kidnapping and torturing Muggles and Muggleborn wizards whenever he felt the urge, having his followers become more outspoken in their views of pureblood rule, even going so far to have those who followed him in the Ministry work together to have Lucius Malfoy acquitted and released. The Ministry was completely out of control and Fudge was descending into a frantic sort of madness.

He was targeting everyone except the Death Eaters in order to deflect from his own inability to actually do anything semi-useful. His latest project was against magical creatures. Some kind of containment act. Harry would have paid more attention, for Remus' sake, but Hermione assured him there was no way it would pass and to just ignore it.

She rarely steered him wrong and so he'd done just that.

"Man I wish I had my camera." Harry jumped and whirled around to stare at Ginny, who smiled at him sweetly. She was taller, almost his height, with the same brown eyes as her mother and all of her family, save Ron and Bill who had somehow ended up with a bright blue, and hair that reached to about mid-back. She'd grown into herself nicely and gave Harry and Ron quite the time when it came to threatening to beat the tar out of leering men.

"What for?"

"Those two." She sighed and pulled out a chair, sitting next to him. She tugged on her skirt lightly then shrugged. "They are so obvious. They aren't fooling anyone except each other."

"And only when they're conscious." Harry said, indicating the way they were sleeping. "So. Where's Malfoy?"

She blinked at him, eyebrow going up. "Are you trying to imply something?"

"That it's not really an orgy if he isn't here?" Harry smiled as he spoke, amused at the way her nose wrinkled in disgust. Whenever he or Ron said something she thought was gross she'd make that face and he found it amusing to try and make her do it quicker than the time before.

His record was thirteen seconds.

"Eww, Harry, that's sick."

He smiled wider, nodding. "It is isn't it? So where is he? No point in his paying rent for the apartment if he's never here, is there?"

The apartment was a small building in Muggle London, with four actual bedrooms and the basement which Harry had modified to suit his needs when Ginny had moved in. In their seventh year Dumbledore had made him, Ron, and Hermione swear to try and make nice with Malfoy because he had led a rough life and didn't have anyone else. Narcissa had suffered a very public breakdown and Malfoy had been transferred to the custody of his Godfather, Professor Snape.

The Slytherins had made him an outcast and a target in his own house. With his father in Azkaban and his mother in St. Mungos all of his 'power' had vanished. The Slytherins had no longer needed to respect him or follow his orders because he was useless to their cause. He was suddenly on par with Neville, at best, when it came to his family situation.

Rather unexpectedly, Neville had been Malfoy's first true friend. He understood what it like to have people avoid you, talking about you and your parents, and had even gone so far as to accompany Draco the first time the Slytherin had visited his mother at St. Mungos.

Living with Snape and being close to Neville had led to Malfoy choosing sides and becoming a member of the order. He had, thanks to Hermione's amazing ability to forgive and forget mostly, managed to become part of their group. Harry and Ron hadn't exactly been happy with the idea, but with Hermione willing to try it would have been nothing short of childish to not try as well.

After Hogwarts Dumbledore had decided the three of them, along with Neville, Malfoy, and Ginny, would make up a group in the Order.

They didn't have very many other friends and hadn't really been motivated to keep in touch with anyone from Hogwarts. As far as Harry knew, other than Luna Lovegood and Blaise Zabini, the only people any of them communicated with regularly were members of the Order.

"He's working late."

Harry leaned back in his seat, craning to see the clock hanging in the kitchen. Four of the hands were on home and, as Ginny had said, one was fixed on 'Working'. There was still something deeply bewildering about Malfoy working.

He and Ginny worked at a bookshop. While officially it was a Muggle shop specializing in Occult items, it also doubled as a supply store for Wizards. Hermione and Ron worked near them, at a restaurant, and Harry had the esteemed honor of being secretary to some guy in an office building.

"It's almost eleven."

"I know."

"Shouldn't one of us walk him back?"

It wasn't that Harry was paranoid…okay, he was. But with cause. He would never forget the Ministry messenger standing on the front step and telling him that Neville had been killed in a broom incident. He'd apparently fallen from his broom and broken his neck. It was bullshit of course, Neville was terrified of heights and flying, but that was the official story. Harry couldn't help but think that if he'd stayed at school a little later, agreed to wait until Neville finished his Herbology final, that he could have done something.

Could have saved the other teen. Neville hadn't deserved to die. Most people didn't, of course, but Neville had been virtually harmless. Innocent, in spite of the way his life had gone. He'd still had hope that everything would work out and never stopped visiting his parents in St. Mungos, even though it was hopeless.

Malfoy had been hit hard as well, maybe even worse than Harry had. Harry thought sometimes that Draco's optimism had died with Neville. God knew Harry hadn't really felt true hope since then. All he had was anger and fury and paranoia to keep him going. A bitter mix, but it worked.

Harry had been wary of letting his friends go places alone ever since. He couldn't stand to lose anyone else. He wasn't sure he could take much more.

"Actually, he said 'Tell _Dad_ not to worry, I'm taking the floo back.'" She smirked at him widely. "Something's been bugging me Harry. How is that we have to go around in pairs but you can wander around at midnight all alone?"

Harry blinked at her mildly. "I'm immortal." Her eyebrow went up. "Only Voldemort can kill me so I'm not really worried about his lackeys. When Voldemort decides to kill me it won't be on a street corner in Muggle London, I assure you. That man can't scratch his ass without making a big deal out of it."

"Harry!" Ginny looked as if she wasn't sure whether to scold him or laugh. He shrugged.

"It's true. If I was him I would have ended all of this the moment I had a body of my own and killed me, minus the wizarding duel, but he's too busy mucking about." Harry put his hands on the table and shook his head, a small smile quirking his lips. "Lucius is the one running everything these days. Voldemort just isn't as bright as he claims to be, you know?"

"It's a good thing he isn't. You don't want to be dead, do you?"

Harry was silent for a moment, eyes darting over to where Hermione and Ron lay. He knew he was taking much too long on a relatively simple question and when Ginny's hand covered his he could practically feel the worry rolling off of her. Ginny had never been particularly good at hiding her emotions; she projected so fiercely that even Ron, who was even more dense to 'emotional things' than Harry pretended to be, could pick up on it.

"Harry-"

What could he say to her? One of them was going to die and his odds aren't exactly great. Voldemort came back from the dead, or at least managed to keep his soul from passing on long enough to get a new body, and no one else had cheated death like that.

Much to Harry's dismay. There were so many things he wanted to do over, so many things he wished to God he had said before he'd lost the people important to him. He wished he'd told Sirius that he meant more to him than anyone else in the world. He wished he had told Neville that he wasn't really a screw up, but one of the best people Harry had known. He wished he'd told Dumbledore how much the man had changed his life. He wished he'd been able to tell the twins how important they had been to his continued sanity.

He wished he could tell Remus how much he needed him, how he couldn't do this to himself, how Harry was _this close _to just cracking and losing it, how he was completely falling apart at the seams in the dead of night and could do nothing by the light of day but stitch himself together to suffer through another day.

But he couldn't. Harry just…wasn't that brave. People thought he was some great hero but he was inclined to disagree. People like Snape, as hard as it was to comprehend, were heroes. People who chose to be involved in utterly useless and futile fights were heroes; he was just some poor kid who'd been forced into destiny.

He'd never had a choice. Hell, he'd never had an actual life. From the moment Voldemort targeted him it had all been decided. Harry's life had been over before he was a year old. It was all over except the final battle where one, or both, of them would fall.

Harry was kind of hoping for both. That way the fight would fall on someone else's shoulders and he could just…move on. He was so tired.

He couldn't say any of this to Ginny of course. He turned his hand and squeezed hers lightly before standing up. He could see the concern swimming in her eyes and wanted so much to say something comforting but Harry had never been a very good liar. He had reached up to push the hair out of her eyes when he felt it. The darkly familiar tingle that always happened right before

__

They were slicing the skin from her back slowly, stripping it to expose rivulets of blood and the intertwinement of muscle and flesh. She was screaming, voice hoarse, as the white hot metal slid into her flesh. Her hair, sweat darkened brown, fell all around her naked form and she trembled violently. Her skin, what was left and visible through the blood and tissue, was sallow olive, oily.

He could feel the knife in his hand, the heat making his hands blister. He barely felt it though, skin toughened through magic. He brought it down again, adding the finishing touches to his 'masterpiece,' then took a step back, head tilted to the side. His mark, the Dark Mark, was carved in all it's glory into her body. He made a gesture and his servant rushed forward, hauling the large, bulky form of the barely conscious girl up before him with some effort. She stared with glazed vacant blue eyes, swaying dangerously on her feet.

The scent of blood and sweat clung to her in a thick cloud. Tears stained her cheeks, her hair clung to her face, and her lips moved though no sound emerged.

They always looked so pretty when they had just been broken. He reached out, touched her skin and smeared some of her blood on her cheek. Beautiful.

Harry jerked back to himself and realized he was standing before a pale Ginny, hand on her cheek. He stepped away, hand dropping to his side as an icy feeling swept over his body. She blinked at him and he'd never been so happy that her eyes were the usual Weasley brown than he was in that moment.

"'Arry?" Ron's sleep slurred voice rang out and he glanced at his friend to find the redhead half untangled from Hermione and slipping dangerously close to the edge of the couch. "Mate? Wot's going on? You okay?"

He snorted darkly.

"Harry?" Ginny's voice was hesitant, afraid.

He wasn't surprised. The visions that Voldemort sent to him were becoming more and more powerful. He no longer observed as if he were an outsider, but now felt and smelled and touched. He moved, mimicking the man who invaded his mind.

It was like the connection, whatever it was, was deepening. They were…he didn't even know what to call it, but he knew he no longer felt alone in his own body. He couldn't be sure of what he might do next because of it and…well, it was terrifying. Really, how could he be safe when his own body wasn't his own? His own mind just a playground for his enemy.

She had every right to be scared. He could kill her and never even know he was doing it until it was far too late. Ginny should have been terrified.

But God he wished she wasn't.

"Harry? What did you see?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, the image of the girl staring at him with shattered eyes that seemed to reflect the world around him while no light came from inside. The feel of her slick skin under his fingertips and the hot knife in his hands.

"Nothing new." He said finally. "I'm going to bed."

He liked the basement. It was quiet and still and he could lay there with his eyes closed and pretend that he was nothing; vapor just waiting to rise into the sky and be blown away with the next breeze. He loved those moments.

Ginny's question chased him down the stairs to his room. Did he want to be dead? As he pulled his clothes off, he considered the question seriously. By the time he fell onto his bed and pulled the sheet over his body he had something resembling the answer.

He liked the quiet. (1)

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Chelle: (1) was a quote from Buffy (The series, not the movie) In the episode 'Zeppo' a zombie asks Xander if he was okay with dying. Xander gives him a half-smile and says 'I like the quiet'. I think Harry has that mentality at the moment…okay, and I'm a fan girl. Bite me.

Mechante: Losha: _Waves_

Dimi: Yeah, the dream was both pleasing and depressing but…it did kind of lead to this, so it's all good.

I live. My computer died and I finally saved up for a new one. It only took a few months…anyway, I should have it soon. 7 to 10 business days. And yeah, it just made sense to us. If someone gave Sirius Heaven or he had a chance to come back it's clear which he would take. I don't know about genius, but I suppose I can see the point with…you know, less genius insisted upon, because it just kind of clicked.

Polyester: Nah, doesn't matter. We probably won't see James again…at any point. And if we do it won't be for a while, I don't think.

Crazy: Glad you like it.


	3. Here in This Lonely Place

To Sleep, To Dream

AKA: The Crow: Dogs and Demons

Losha: I'm pretty much the kept boy of a wanna-be lawyer. And, as lucrative a position as that is (pun intended), it doesn't quite equal being one of the most well known authors ever, you know?

Authors: Dimitri Aidan, Aloysha, and Rochelle B

Rating: T/PG-13 at first, M/R or NC-17 eventually. Depends on where you encounter it.

Pairings: Remus/Sirius, Snape/Narcissa, Harry/Bill, Ron/Hermione, Draco/Ginny, Charlie/Tonks, and some other things that are still being worked out.

Warnings: …Dark Fiction is the name of the game. You're in the hands of an admittedly sick freak, an obsessed fan girl, and a boy whose mind is always on. It could get odd.

Notes: Read HBP. Proceeded to toss it out of my window and give it dirty looks whenever I walk past it.

Inspirational Lyrics: _But I fear, I have nothing to give. I have so much to lose here in this lonely place, tangled up in our embrace there's nothing I'd like better than to fall. (_Sarah McLachlan, Fear)

"Speech"

'Thoughts/inner voices'

Flashbacks/Flash 'forward'

'Written things'

XX Scene Change XX

00 Passage of Time 00

Summary: Sometimes a person dies and not even coming back as a ghost can satisfy the soul. Sometimes a spirit is allowed another chance to make things right. Sometimes death is just the beginning.

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Chapter Three

Here in this Lonely Place

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Remus sat bolt upright, body trembling and covered in an icy sweat. Another dream. A terrible dream, the same terrible dream. Himself, locked away in a cage in some…dark abyss. There was nothing, except him and the cage. He was completely alone. There was no sound, no light, no life. Not even wind could make it to the blackness in which he was being held.

He looked around his room and smiled wryly. Not totally a dream. He was alone. He forgot sometimes when he just woke up and reality had yet to set in. There were times when he woke up and his first thought was that he could fire call Sirius and James and go out to do something. He'd consider it, wonder what mischief they could surely manage to get up to, when the truth would smack him hard in the face.

James was dead. Sirius was dead. Peter was as good as dead if Remus ever saw him again. The Marauders were truly nothing more than a story, a myth, some enchanted writers across a map that was god only knew where. It was ironic to think that, when they'd scripted and enchanted that parchment, they'd thought they'd be like Gods, eternal and never forgotten.

Whispered about in the halls of Hogwarts for years after they'd gone, a secret that only their children would know about and be able to share.

They'd be remembered, no doubt, but not for good things or the right things or the true things. James would forever be the father of the Boy-Who-Lived, killed by Voldemort along with his lovely wife one Halloween night. Sirius would always been the one who betrayed the Potters to the Dark Lord, a terrible figure used to scare kids into obeying their curfews. Peter would always be noble, in a sense, and snuffed out by the traitor.

Remus…well, Remus wouldn't be remembered at all. He wasn't sure if he was glad for that or if it made the fact he was the last one that much worse.

He sat up, pulling his legs up to his chest.

The last Marauder. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He should have been the first to go: the one forever damned. Werewolves didn't have long life spans anyway, to be brutally honest. Between the pain of the transformations and the after effects and the hunters that roamed and tried to wipe them out and the fact that most of those infected with the Lycanthropic disease went insane if they didn't die first…well, it had never inspired him to plan for retirement.

But here he was, a little north of forty and…they were all gone. It shouldn't have gone this way. James and Lily should have had a huge family, like they'd talked about; Sirius should have found a nice guy or girl or creature; Peter should have been loyal and found a wife; and he should have watched his friends be happy.

He'd been easily contented to be honest. The others' happiness had been all it took to make him happy. He'd always been afraid that wanting too much would make him lose the little he had, so he'd learned to take heart in the pleasure of those he held dear.

They should have been happy.

Not this. Never this.

He brushed back a strand of graying hair and sighed, glancing out at the crescent moon. He could feel himself growing weaker with each transformation. The changes got more painful and he found himself unable to leave his bed for days afterwards. Death was coming for him, ready to take the last of a group of foolishly naïve boys.

He needed a drink. He frequently needed drinks these days. The only time he was sober was when Harry called on him, which wasn't often. He knew it hurt the young man to see him wasting away and it hurt him to see Harry, who had once been such a sign of a limitless future and was now a ruin of a life he'd lost.

It wasn't that he didn't care for the boy; he loved Harry with everything he had left. Admittedly, that wasn't much, but it was all he had to offer. But he couldn't see him, not anymore. When Sirius had been alive it had been bearable at least but now…now it wasn't. Besides, Harry didn't need to watch him die like this.

More importantly, he didn't need to know Remus was doing this to himself. Not that Remus truly thought he was hiding it that well. Harry was just terribly obtuse when it suited his needs, which just happened to be almost all of the time. The boy was bright, one of the brightest Remus had ever met, but he was really quite the idiot.

Were Remus anyone else he would have been dead months after Sirius had died, but the beast inside of him, that damn stubborn wolf, clung to life as if it meant something.

The only thing that had passed his lips in longer than he cared to remember was liquor and the scars that traveled along his body were no longer just from the rougher nights in his other form. The wolf kept healing him but it was wearing down, realizing it was fighting a battle it just couldn't win. It rebelled in the light of the moon, yes, trying to find a way to feed the wasting body and when he bled it managed to close the wounds within moments no matter the time of the month.

But it was losing. It knew it was losing. These were just the last moments of fight, the animal backed into a corner by death and lashing out, though it knew it was useless.

He sighed and collapsed back onto the bed. He reached over onto the floor, groping around until he came in contact with smooth cool glass and hauled it up, ignoring the way his arm twinged in protest to the weight.

Amber liquid sloshed around in the half-empty bottle and he sighed softly. Soon enough he'd be able to escape this. Three impossibly long years of waiting and soon it'd be over.

He chuckled softly as he unscrewed the top. The first drops of burning warmth bled down his raw throat almost painfully.

They'd thought they'd be gods.

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He awoke again, in he same place he'd drifted into blackness. He pushed himself into a sitting position and looked around. He was in the Department of Mysteries still.

'Well of course_.'_ A voice scolded him. _Where else would you be?_

The voice had a point. Voices usually had points, in Sirius' experience anyway. He pushed himself to his feet, brushing the dust off, and looking around anxiously. Where the hell had everyone gotten off to? Surely the fight couldn't be over that quickly? He owed Bella for that last spell. Surely they wouldn't have just left him here?

Sure, he'd been a bit of a prat about being stuck in that hellhole of a house but they wouldn't have just left! Not Remus at least; the werewolf would never leave him no matter how much of a bastard he'd been lately. He reached up, raking a hand through his hair when something cool brushed over his cheek. He realized there was a light weight hanging from his wrist.

He held his hand closer, eyeing the silver chain. His eyes continued down until they graced a lion shaped charm. His breath caught in his throat even as suddenly clumsy fingers tried to open the charm. He could hear his shallow breathing, echoing strangely in the gloom.

It opened. A picture of Harry as a baby stared from one side and on the other was the inscription that James has spent weeks slaving over.

'_To my true love, for giving me something no amount of scheming and plotting could have ever given me. Always yours, James.'_

He closed it, fingers closing around the cool silver.

The locket had been buried with Lily.

All at once it came crashing into him. Bella's spell, Lily and James, the Bridge, the acid River, the hands trying to hold him down… all at once. All of the feeling, the thoughts, the rage and the cotton, all crashing into his mind at once. Drowning him. He couldn't breathe again, gasping for air that just wasn't coming while the room spun in front of his suddenly blurry eyes.

Someone let out a strangled sob and it wasn't until tears fell against his dust streaked skin that he realized it was him. He curled onto the floor, hands over his ears as if that would block out the torrent of things he was feeling and seeing and remembering.

He had died.

And now…he was back.

Back from…death. Paradise. His friends.

He coughed, bile rising to the back of his throat and threatening to gag him. He coughed again, then, mouth suddenly tasting foul, vomited onto the floor. He stayed still for a moment then forced himself to get up and crawl away from the rancid smell.

Dead. He'd been dead. This was impossible. He bowed his head, eyes still stinging and breathing irregular. Everyone thought…knew, they knew he was dead. What was he supposed to do now? The conviction he'd had when he'd taken the leap off the bridge was gone, giving way to confusion and anxiety. He felt so…out of sorts.

He didn't know what to do. He couldn't even move. The shadows of the room loomed tall and threatening, whispering that they could drag him back into their waters at a moment's notice and drown him in them. The world went a little gray and he bit his bottom lip, using the pain to try and clear his head.

Think. He had to think. Couldn't let it get to him.

He had to…had to…get the hell out of the Ministry. He clung to that thought like a lifeline, because that's what it was: the only thing that made sense to him and he needed it if he was going to function. He forced his breathing to calm down. He was a wanted man, he couldn't just hang around and wait for people who knew he was dead to come and check to see if he'd managed to crawl back through the veil now could he? No, he had to get out of here.

Once he was outside he could go from there.

He stood on shaky legs then regarded the locket. He hesitantly fastened it around his neck then drew in another shuddery breath. He'd kill for a wand right about now, if only to feel the comforting weight. He was okay at wandless magic, had been one of the best in his school days, but he would have liked the extra security.

Where to go?

His first thought was Harry, naturally. He dismissed it though. He didn't know where his godson was, how long he'd been gone, or how Harry would react to his sudden re-appearance from the grave. Dumbledore then. He'd get to Hogwarts' outer grounds, become Padfoot and get Hagrid to get the man.

Dumbledore would know what to do about all of this. The man may have been crazy, and he most certainly was, but he knew his magic better than Sirius did, both the usual and the forbidden. If there was anyone who could make sense of the returning from the dead thing, it was him.

He went rigid as a shiver ran up his spine. Something like fingers, long bony fingers, made its presence known, scratching along the inside of his skull. _Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

What the hell was-

Pain, blurred and felt as if from miles away, but pain none the less. He looked down and saw dark red coating his fingers, leaking from a hole in his stomach that he couldn't recall being there before. He dropped to his knees, not really feeling the ground beneath him, while rubbing his fingers together, confused. It was slick and thin, smelling sweet but…bitter at the same time.

He looked up, eyes taking in hazy figures but, even as he stared he could feel the daze leaving his mind and giving way to more clarity than he'd felt in a long time. He didn't recognize most of them, but the two he did, he knew well. Fudge, pale and shivering but smiling broadly nonetheless. Percy, the cast out Weasley, who looked like he may be sick at any moment, wand trembling in his hand. It fell, clattering on the floor with exaggerated noise.

He was dying. Blood poured out of him and he would have laughed except he really didn't think it'd be that appropriate at the moment.

"Remus J. Lupin, for resisting containment under The New Magical Creature Ordinance, passed by the Ministry of Magic on October 28th of 1999, you have been sentenced to immediate execution." Percy's voice was trembling and hollow, as if he was reciting something he'd had pounded into his head time and time again.

He did laugh this time, a slow whispery chuckle. Percy went green and then turned and fled, front door banging against the wall with the force he flung it open with. All of Fudge's men took an uneasy step back. He blinked at them placidly, noting how the world was beginning to gray. He put a hand on the wall behind him, leaving a crimson smear, before leaning against it.

The sun was rising.

Sirius gasped, feeling as if he'd once again emerged from the inky river and looked around wildly. He was still in the same place, the veil standing ominously on the other side of the room. He was on his knees again and his stomach burned. He touched himself in the same place he had been bleeding from, but encountered only his t-shirt.

No blood.

No. He hadn't been hurt. The boy (Percy?) had said Remus. Executed? He didn't know what had just happened but he knew he needed to be with Remus.

And then he was. Or at least in Remus' old house. A house, in the middle of the country, that had been just this side of unsalvageable when Remus had scrapped together the money to buy it. It had a root cellar that locked from the inside and was far from other people, though, and that was all Remus had required. The two of them had put a lot of work into the place, making it livable when Lily had gotten pregnant. Couldn't have their godson playing in a deathtrap, after all.

It seemed Remus had let the place fall back into disrepair. The front door seemed to be clinging to the rusted hinges with the last of its strength, the windows were impossible to see out of, yellowing newspapers, folders and mail were piling up on the floor, on the front table, the stairs… Glass bottles were scattered about, some only half-empty. Dust clung to the air, adding to the muggy feel and stale taste of it, as if no one had opened a window in forever.

It felt…dead. Abandoned. It made him nauseous to even be in this place.

There was a thud above his head and he looked up as if he'd suddenly gained the ability to see through wood. He hadn't, of course, and so headed for the steps, taking the rickety things two at a time and hoping to God they didn't collapse under his feet. He turned, heading directly for Remus' room and all but ripping the door open.

He almost choked, the scent of old liquor smacking him as if it had a physical presence. He did take a step back and yelped as his foot came in contact with a bottle. The ground moved from beneath his feet and came back under his back. He groaned.

"Bloody hell, clean up would you?"

Ouch. He rubbed the back of his head, half expecting to feel a bump forming.

"Who's out there?" The familiar voice, dark and raspy, called out. There was a faint slur to it but considering the state of the house he couldn't find it in himself to be surprised that Remus was apparently drunk. Then again, Remus had never been much of a drinker when they were younger…

Faintly surprised then.

"Who the hell do you think?" He snapped back, annoyed. "Jesus Christ Moony, when was the last time you opened a bloody window? This place is rank, mate."

There was the sound of rustling and then a figure pulled away from the shadows that he was pretty sure made up the other man's bed. He squinted, focusing on the faintly glowing amber eyes. For a moment neither moved. Finally Remus took a step back, eyes darting away as he muttered to himself.

"I didn't think I was that drunk."

"Huh?" Sirius blinked, confused. Remus ignored him, swaying a little on his feet and putting a hand to his face. He turned, starting to retreat back to his bed. Sirius sprang to his feet, rushing forward before he could even realize what he was doing.

"Moony-!" He reached out to touch his friend but the man stumbled back, tripping over his own feet and falling. Amber eyes were wide and seemed to be staring through Sirius as if he wasn't there at all. Closer now he could see his friend better. The hair that was now over a quarter of the way gray, longer than Remus had ever worn it and in total disarray. Long shadows danced over his pale ashen face and he was so thin that Sirius was sure he could wrap one of his hands around both of Remus' wrists.

He looked…old. Much older than Sirius remembered.

"You look terrible Moony."

Remus flinched. "You aren't real, you aren't real, aren't real, aren't real, aren't real." He was shivering, arms wrapped tight around himself. He squeezed his eyes shut, but a tear still escaped, leaving a trail down his cheek.

Sirius just stared. He didn't know what to do. This wasn't Remus at all. Remus was so much stronger than this. He was…he didn't cry or show pain. Nothing could shake him because whatever was going on he'd seen worse. Felt worse. Been worse. He'd always been strong to Sirius, able to go through anything and come out the other end with a sarcastic remark and a smirk.

Even after transformations, when he was pale and sick and barely able to stay awake, he'd never seemed truly vulnerable. It just wasn't part of his personality.

How could he have changed so much? How long had Sirius been…gone? Why wasn't someone helping Remus when he was so obviously falling apart?

Why wasn't he helping?

Swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat he reached out and touched the older man's shoulder.

"No!" Remus shouted, arm going up and swinging out at Sirius. He put a hand up to stop it even though he knew it wouldn't do any good. He remembered, suddenly, when they were fifteen and Remus had, in a rare display of anger, kicked one of the beds across the dorm room only to have it shatter against the wall.

After that they'd all been a little more careful about getting on Remus' bad side. Werewolf strength, it seemed, wasn't just limited to the full moon.

So when he managed to catch Remus' wrist and stop himself from losing any teeth, or ending up with his skull crushed, he was surprised, to say the least. He wrapped his hand completely around the older man's wrist and carefully brought it down to a level where it could cause no harm. Remus whimpered before going completely limp. Sirius had to move quickly to keep him from hitting his head on the floor.

Somehow he imagined that a knock to the head was the last thing Remus needed at the moment. The first thing he needed was a shrink. Or a good strong cup of tea. One could never be sure with Remus.

Remus groaned and Sirius could feel the tremors coming from the other man's body. Amber eyes were unfocused and wet.

"Aren't real. Another dream."

Sirius wasn't sure what he could say to Remus. The man didn't even seem to be talking to him, but rather to himself, voice soft and breathy. He went rigid for a moment when Remus moved suddenly, clinging to him. Tears soaked through his shirt and he closed his eyes, heart thudding in his chest.

This was just so…

He could use some tea. With vodka. Mostly vodka.

Eventually the older man went still in his arms, breath evening out and becoming almost peaceful and relaxed. It was a false image though; Sirius really doubted that Remus was anywhere near peace at the moment.

He picked Remus up, trying not to be disturbed at how easy it was to lift the older man. He placed Remus back in the bed, then stared down at the thin shell of his only remaining friend before sliding down onto the floor and resting his head against the bed frame.

What the hell happened to them?

This wasn't supposed to be their lives.

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Chelle: That…was more fun than it deserved to be. Remus torment is just too much fun to not take delight in. But, when all is said and done, I'm not the Plot Master and all complaints should be aimed at Dimi.

Slashy Kitty: LOL. That's right, Remus/Sirius slash makes everything all better doesn't it? We depressed ourselves a little bit actually but were amused/disturbed to find how well this story went along with HBP, with Dumbledore being dead and Narcissa being crazy and everything…

Mechante: You are allowed to review as much as you want; we certainly don't mind any. Harry needs the same kind of glue Wally seems intent on using in 'Less Than Guilty' I think… Bill is on his way, but he has issues of his own and I'm not sure if he remembered to pack the glue…we'll have to see. Hermione still has that belief in authority I'm afraid; jaded but utterly naïve in a way, especially when it comes to not seeing how much happier she'd be if she just admitted to being in love with Ron.

And thanks to Crazy-Psycho.


	4. I Breathe so You Breathe

AKA: The Crow: Dogs and Demons

Dimi: Nope, still not with the ownership. Maybe next time.

Authors: Dimitri Aidan, Aloysha, and Rochelle B

Rating: T/PG-13 at first, M/R or NC-17 eventually. Depends on where you encounter it.

Pairings: Remus/Sirius, Snape/Narcissa, Harry/Bill, Ron/Hermione, Draco/Ginny, Charlie/Tonks, and some other things that are still being worked out.

Warnings: Disturbing imagery, Blood, Violence, homicidal Sirius, and all around creepy Remus behavior. I'm pretty sure that therapy Sirius was thinking about would be helpful.

Notes: My mind is, at times, a scary place. I'm not usually much for 'action' scenes so I'm not sure how this turned out, what with Sirius being all homicidal and all. I'm more of a psychological writer; I like to pick brains apart, not bodies.

Inspirational Lyrics:_ And I breathe where you breathe, Let me stand where you stand, With all that I am…And I breathe so you breathe, Let me stand so you'll stand, With all that I am_ (All That I Am, Rob Thomas)

"Speech"

'Thoughts/inner voices'

__

Flashbacks/Flash 'forward'

'Written things'

XX Scene Change XX

00 Passage of Time 00

Summary: Sometimes a person dies and not even coming back as a ghost can satisfy the soul. Sometimes a spirit is allowed another chance to make things right. Sometimes death is just the beginning.

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Chapter Four

I Breathe so You Breathe

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Remus woke up again, feeling thoroughly wrung out. He'd managed to drink so much that even his hangover was muffled, the pounding in his head dulled as if his brain was surrounded in cotton. It was a strange fuzzy feeling, not quite like being drunk but amusing none the less.

He reached up, rubbing at eyes so dry they felt like they were covered in a thick layer of sandpaper, rubbing over them until they burned. He sighed and slid out of the bed, wincing at the taste in his mouth. It was dimly reminiscent of that time he'd hunted a rabbit while he was transformed and had woken up with the taste of raw meat, mixed with wolf saliva and allowed to stew for six hours, in his mouth. Sirius had thought it was hilarious but Remus had been far from amused.

His lips quirked bitterly at the thought of Sirius, laughing until he was crying at the disgusted look Remus wore while pointedly ignoring his annoyed ramblings about the three of them allowing him to eat animals. It had nearly driven Remus to a life of vegetarianism it had been so foul.

A lot of people had been fooled by the good looks that came along with being a Black and the bright, ready smile he wore. Even though he'd always been at the top of the class most people had never fully grasped what a keen, wicked, and almost evil mind lurked just beneath the surface.

Sirius had often accused Remus of being undercover mean, particularly after an incident in their seventh year where Remus had made their Astronomy teacher cry with a particularly harsh tirade about how unlikely it was that he'd done anything less than perfect on their mid-term concerning the phases of the moon and what they meant.

Remus hadn't thought the matter that serious but he'd never been able to live it down. It wasn't like it wasn't justified though: a B? He knew more about the moon, its phases, and their effects on nature than she could ever hope to.

Still, as mean as Remus was alleged to be, Sirius hadn't been exactly innocent himself. Sure, he often played it off with charming smiles and those big, innocent blue-gray eyes of his, but some of the things he came up with to torment the other students were nothing short of cruel, unusual, and brilliant.

They'd been quite the little shits in their youth.

He rolled out of bed and blinked blurrily at the grime covered window, less than enthusiastic with the moonlight that managed to sneak its way through. Another rub at his eyes and he began to look around, frowning when he saw that the bottles that had littered his floor had been piled up neatly in the farthest corner of his room. More than that the scent of dust and stale air had lessened and he could almost feel a change in the way the air flowed, not to mention that it smelled…cleaner.

A glance showed the window was indeed locked tight.

Had he done this? Remus was a great many things, but a productive drunk wasn't one of them…not to his knowledge anyway. He was more of a sour, sullen drunk that couldn't be bothered to do anything except drink until he was unable to continue. Yet someone had straightened up his room, to a certain extent anyway.

He just couldn't imagine whom. No one really came here anymore; too disturbed by the way he was living…or not living rather. Tonks had been the first to stop coming to see him. For almost a year she'd hung around, dragging him out of his house and prattling on about Order business. Remus had suspected she had a crush on him but had finally had it confirmed when she confessed to it the year after Sirius' death.

He'd tried to let her down easily, tried to tell her he was dangerous and far too old and anything else that would have gotten her to back off. In the end it had been as simple as telling her that, even if looking at her didn't remind him of Sirius, he didn't want to live anymore and there was no point in trying to force him to do so.

She'd stopped trying after that.

The Weasleys had been next but that was to be expected. As good of friends as they had become through the Order, they hadn't been close and they had only been able to take his silence and disinterested nature for so long. Ron and Hermione next and then Albus…

The man hadn't given up on him, ever. His weekly visits had never faltered and he never stopped sending him on missions for the Order or let the fact Remus had given up dim the infuriating twinkle in his eyes. No, rather than give up on Remus he'd joined the ranks of those Remus had been forced to bury and mourn.

All that was left was Harry, and now even the boy was drawing away. He no longer stopped by and tried to tidy up when Remus' back was turned or tried to draw him out into the fresh air. When he did come by they just sat, staring at each other for an hour with no words passing between them.

But there was understanding: the war had taken a lot out of both of them and changed who they were and neither would ever be the same. Neither really wanted to be. Neither really planned to live much longer than it took for one side to win the war, no matter the outcome.

Remus thought that maybe that should have disturbed him, or that he should be less okay with the idea of Harry dying sooner rather than later. Once he would have protested, fought with every fiber of his body to try and convince the boy to live but now…now he understood. Harry was being torn apart from the inside, shredded apart and hollowed out and even if they won the war he wouldn't be Harry anymore. He'd be a jaded, paranoid solider who'd lost his entire world. He would give up all of his innocence and purity and energy to save a world that, when all was said and done, wouldn't accept him. They'd revere him and be grateful for what he did and treat him like some kind of hero, but they would never accept him.

They never accepted darker things. Already Harry had the shadows haunting his eyes. Shadows…Harry wasn't the only person who had shadows in his eyes.

__

"Jesus Christ Moony, when was the last time you opened a bloody window? This place is rank, mate." Even in the darkness he could see that face, that achingly familiar face, peering at him with a trace of panic warring with the shadows on his face.

Remus shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself and bowing his head. Dream. He remembered the dream now, another common one. Or it had been common, until Albus was murdered. He used to dream that Sirius was alive, cocky and confident. That between the two of them they could fix Harry up, help stop Voldemort, and just…live. When Albus had died the dream had faded under the harshness of his own disbelief in it anymore. Even unconscious he knew that without Albus nothing could ever be right again.

It'd been easy to blot the world out in a haze of alcohol and blood after that. Before there had been a lingering kind of guilt for disappointing the man who'd put himself on the line countless times to protect and aid Remus. Without his presence hovering over him, the constant fear of displeasing the first person to accept him as he was lessened. Each drink became easier, each time he awoke with a pounding headache made the time before seem less important and worthy of his guilt.

It had already begun to blend together, becoming an endless hangover of sorts, with the only efforts at sobriety made when his godson visited.

He shivered again, dream rolling around in his brain and the oh-so-real feeling of being in Sirius' arms and hot breath fanning over his face while he sobbed crashed into him, twisting at his heart as if it were some kind of physical hurt. His eyes burned and he closed them again, which only served to make things worse.

He could remember it so well now, the calluses on his fingers and the strange soothing tone of his voice while he talked about nothing and let Remus cry against him. He longed for the hazy dreams other people had, but his were always perfectly sharp and realistic.

For months he'd woken up from the dreams, expecting to walk downstairs and find Sirius sleeping in the spare room or stumbling around the kitchen, making tea and breakfast even though he was barely awake enough to remember his own name.

That was never what he found of course. Stacks of unopened mail, newspapers, liquor bottles, dirty clothes, grimy windows and floors so covered in dust that he left footprints when he walked around. Desolation. This house, once his pride and joy because it was _his_ and he'd been able to get it on his own, was decaying around him.

It was all rotting.

He pushed himself up and shuffled out of the room and across the hall to the small bathroom, raking his fingers through his hair anxiously. The blue and cream tiles were cool under his feet, small squares pressing against his skin with a strange sort of gentleness. He touched the wall, feeling the rough paper under his fingertips. Sometimes he thought he could feel the way the cream was yellowing and the blue was fading, feel it seeping into his skin and body.

He gripped the edge of the sink, chilly porcelain digging into his palm sharply. He let out a breath, exhaling slowly then curling his fingers around the edge of the sink until his blunt nails scraped over the slick surface. He let his eyes drift to where the mirror had once been. He had never thought himself particularly handsome or foul looking and thus had never put much thought into mirrors but now…

He couldn't stand to look at himself. It was a funny time to get vain or neurotic about his appearance but he found he hated what he saw these days. He reached out, touching the wood that had been under the mirror then let his fingers drift around the edge where jagged pieces of mirror still clung to their shell stubbornly.

One particularly sharp edge caught on the side of his middle finger and sliced the skin slowly as he dragged his finger across, going downward at an angle until he just reached the palm. A large drop of crimson stained the shard, traveling down it before hanging, a ruby drop in the air. It fell, falling into the sink, mere centimeters from the drain and bursting into smaller splatters.

He pulled his hand back, ignoring the way the wolf howled in the back of his mind, furious that he would dare do this to himself yet again. It had started as an absurd desperate…_need_ to remove the wolf, the source of all of his pain and the pain of those around him.

He couldn't have been more than twelve, his second year at Hogwarts, and carving the beast out of him had seemed like a perfectly valid recourse after his parents had exhausted their fortune on more practical means. It had made sense in the way fears of dragons under your bed and vampires in your closet made sense to a child. Simple childish wanting and longing that was, ironically enough, how he had ended up bitten in the first place.

He'd wanted to explore the woods and explore he had, right until he was looking into a gaping, drooling mouth and razor sharp teeth had clamped down onto his neck, intent on ripping his throat out. If Remus' father had been a few seconds slower…

A pity really. He rubbed his fingers together, feeling the sting as the open skin was forced back, widening the cut and causing the blood flow to increase.

It hadn't exactly worked, unless getting sick at the sight of his own blood counted. The wolf had been eerily quiet for the rest of the week, no pacing or growling or whining in the back of his mind and he had thought perhaps he was on to something.

He tried it again, remembered the feel of blood sliding down his arm and reaching up to try and peel the flesh back to get a look at what was really inside. He'd gotten woozy and passed out, then spent the next two weeks hiding it, only to chalk it up to his transformation when Poppy questioned him after the full moon.

He had gone on that way for some time. And then he'd stopped, even though some part of him still wanted to see himself bleed and feel the prickles of pain a wound could cause.

He hadn't though. Not for a very long time. He'd been logical; he couldn't cut the wolf out and he couldn't very well hurt himself for no reason.

A drunken haze combined with a night not too far from the moon, where the wolf was almost powerful enough to control his actions if he let his guard down and he would have done anything to rid his body- _mind_- of the beast.

He eyed his finger then pulled at the already displaced skin, ripping it back slowly.

The wolf whimpered pleadingly. Remus chuckled darkly, putting his hand back up onto the frame of the mirror to pierce another finger.

Someone knocked at the door. He blinked and, with a slightly confused haze descending on his brain, turned and walked in the direction of the front door, grabbing a washrag for his finger as he went. Wouldn't do to bleed on all of the guests and risk passing along his 'illness'.

Mind you, he was pretty sure vampirism was the only one of the 'Big Three' passed from the blood of the infected. Werewolves relied on saliva or…other fluids, put directly into the body. Vampires had the disease in their blood and a simple bite wouldn't pass it, as werewolf bites were known to do. Dementors…theirs was more a torment of the mind than the body.

He had expected to get to the foot of the stairs and have to tell one of the members of the Order or someone from town to go away because he was fine, but instead found a cluster of men standing just inside his door. Twilight streamed in through the open door, making the shadows of the kitchen, living room, and stairs seem that much more prominent for no light came from any of the three directions and there was only blackness.

Remus had very good night vision.

His eyes settled on Minister Fudge. The Ministry of Magic…that explained things somewhat. As a magical creature Remus was not entitled to silly things like privacy and as such the Ministry had complete access to his house in the form of a key. They didn't 'grace' him with their presence often, but when they did Remus was always left with a lasting headache. He finished descending the stairs and arched an eyebrow at Fudge while quirking a smile, which seemed to disturb the man.

"Minister. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Fudge coughed, covering his discomfort, and nodded to the group behind him. One of the figures broke away and the sickly sweet scent of fear curled around Remus. The hood of the robe was pushed back, revealing unmistakable red hair.

He smiled tiredly. Percy Weasley. He hadn't caught more than a glimpse of the boy since the year after he graduated and had to confess he wasn't much in the mood for a trip down memory lane. Rather he just wanted to know what the Ministry was invading his house for and how long it would take to get them out. He had…bottles to empty.

"Remus John Lupin, we, on behalf on the Ministry of Magic, are here to inform you of the New Magical Creature Containment Act, passed on October 28th of 1999." Remus rubbed at the bridge of his nose, wondering where his glasses had gotten to. Wasn't today (or was it tomorrow already) the 28th? Had they really decided to pay him a special visit so soon? "It says that starting on this day all Unnatural Creatures are to be contained in areas as specified and monitored by the Ministry, for the protection of the general populace. You, being of the species werewolf, are hereby ordered to surrender to the Ministry upon being informed of the Act and go to the area specified for those of your kind. If you should refuse we will be forced to take immediate action, labeling you a threat to the safety of the Wizarding community and disposing of you as such."

Remus sighed heavily, looking at the boy from beneath heavy lids. "It's a shame you can't deal with Voldemort and his Death Eaters as easily as you can go about the countryside terrorizing wolf packs, nymph hoards, elfin families, and vampire clans isn't it?"

His voice was dry and cracked, weathered like the house was. It creaked in places as the steps did when weight was put on them and words slipped from his mouth and hovered like dust in the air. His fingers flexed at the sound, he hadn't heard himself speak in some time. He felt the warm trickle down his palm, blood prompted to flow harder.

Brown eyes widened just slightly and the bitter tang of guilt mingled with the fear. Well. At least the boy knew what a git he was being. Not that it mattered much in the long run.

"No." Remus said finally, the world rolling off his tongue with a sick kind of delight he couldn't really place. He'd always kind of gotten off on defying the Ministry and of course saying 'no' to Fudge was the ultimate in that, but he was a touch too old for it these days.

Maybe he was just hoping Fudge had devised a way to actually 'dispose' of him. Avada Kedavra would probably do it, quickly and cleanly with no real fuss. (is that spelled right? I'll assume you checked already, I don't have the books handy. I think I've been pronouncing it wrong in my head all this time…)

"Refusal isn't an option Mr. Lupin." Fudge's tone was just slightly mocking. "Considering your state I think your quality of life would improve."

"Doubtful." Remus shifted his weight, a sudden wave of dizziness rushing over him. The world tilted just slightly and he took a stumbling step backwards. The wolf was pacing in his mind again, begging to be allowed to the forefront to rip the smug look from Fudge's face. He sighed, pushing the beast back and straightening up some.

"I knew you would refuse. That's why you're first, you'll be an example to the rest of your sort." Fudge was such a uselessly racist bastard. A _smug_ looking uselessly racist bastard, Remus amended when he fully took in the smirk the man was wearing.

He thought he'd set Remus up, instead of stumbling upon a werewolf too tired and a human too far gone to give a damn. He'd gotten lucky.

Another nod in Percy's general direction and the boy, shaking now with the scents of fear and guilt and shame and terror and confusion rolling off of him in waves, raised his hand so the end of his wand pointed squarely at Remus' chest. He wondered if perhaps he was finally, finally, looking death in the eye.

Smiled to himself because he hadn't expected it to go like this.

There was a movement to his left, from the living room. A shadow moved and stood in the doorway, human shaped and, this gave Remus a moment's pause, so familiar it hurt. Dust and soap and water were layered over something more, something that Remus didn't want to place.

There was a moment of silence punctuated by a total lack of movement. Then there was movement; the figure seemed to glide across the wooden floor fearlessly and put itself right in front of Percy. A deathly pale hand that almost _glowed_ in the blackness reached out and touched his wand hand.

Brown eyes were so wide it was a wonder they didn't roll out of his head. The robed ameba, as Remus now thought of the cluster of silent Ministry workers, moved back, edging close to the door. Fudge had gone as pale as chalk.

"Y-You! You're-"

"Shhh. Listen." The figure put a finger over the trembling boy's lips and Remus could imagine the quirky smile perfectly. "You should go home. Your parents miss you terribly and have never wanted anything except your forgiveness for their mistakes, and an apology for your own. They'd like it if you brought your boyfriend with you. If you leave now I think I might not kill you next time I see you."

The voice was soft but heavy, each word seeming to weigh a ton and slam into Percy, judging by the way he was wincing. He was let go of and then, with a loud crack, was gone. The figure rocked back on his heels, voice thick with amusement.

"Kids these days, eh Fudge? Just aren't reliable. Can't even get them to take out a defenseless werewolf these days."

Fudge's expression twisted into one of rage. "Black. I knew you'd be back, I just never thought the werewolf would be harboring you after what you did to the Potters. I shouldn't be surprised though; what loyalty does an animal have?"

A hand was pointed at the ameba lazily. "Leave now. Bored."

The ameba seemed to collectively shudder and move again but Fudge snarled at them, spittle flying from his mouth. "Don't run; get him! He's one unarmed man protecting a deprecate animal! Don't be intimidated."

The figure moved with a fluid quickness that seemed to outdo the catlike grace Remus had always associated with him. He was behind Fudge; arm draped lazily over the man's shoulder before the ameba members could so much as seriously consider drawing a wand, let alone manage an attack on him. A hand moved, more like twitched, and the arm around his neck pressed against him until Fudge made a strange choking noise.

"Don't call him an animal. It angers me and last time I threw a temper tantrum thirteen innocent people got blown to hell." He spoke with a lazy kind of tone as if he wasn't slowly strangling the Minister of Magic. Fudge's lips were becoming a very unnerving shade of blue.

He lifted his head slightly and though ink colored hair cast a shadow over his eyes and most of his features were still hidden by shadow Remus knew him. Remus would always know him.

He inhaled: earth, shadow, lemon, and rosemary.

"Hi Moony."

"Hullo Padfoot."

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Chelle, as our resident Wicca, thought that Sirius' scent should include lemon and rosemary because they represent courage and friendship, respectively. Or…have traits of them or…something. I wasn't really listening….

Rigel: The three of us pretty much agree that Remus/Sirius is our OTP and no amount of Tonks/Remus hinting is ever going to change that, and its always nice to know of others who feel the same.

Doxxy: I love utterly destroying characters and making it believable, even though you never would have thought of it before. I've been told I'm really good at it, which I guess is a compliment, in a strange and scary kind of way.

Lin: It's not the amount of reviews, it's the content. I'd take one thoughtful review over ten reviews any day. I like to know you guys are reading and thinking. I think it's my inner wanna-be teacher… Sirius is the only one 'in character' bursts of homicidal anger aside, so I'm glad you thought it was a typical reaction.

Flame: lol. To love the insanity or to hate the insanity…a dilemma I go through with myself every day, I assure you. It's fun.

Shinigami: Neither will be making a move for a while, as Harry is pretty much broken and Bill…will have issues of his own, that we'll find out about in due time.

Kitty: Meh, we didn't like it much. Maybe because we're diehard Snape fans. Not necessarily Snape as a good guy fans, but just Snape in general and this apparent shift in his loyalties means we'll have to follow him over to the dark side, for lack of a better term. Trust me, we're not suffering from lack of ideas; that's simply never something I suffer from. My brain is always…on.

Mechante: Sarah McLachlan is of the good, it's true. I thought it fit the chapter very well. And yeah, there will probably be a lot more suffering…after all, you always hurt the ones you love to write about, that's what I always say. You most certainly don't have to wait two years, give us a little credit and…yeah. Carefree party life…right out the window. Remus would be devastated if not for the fact Sirius kind of traumatized him, I'd think. Oh, and Chelle said to tell you that yes, it was a slight Vamp!Willow quote. We thought it was…appropriate.

Thanks to Crazy, Xeroa, and Versipellis for their reviews.


	5. To Another Day

To Sleep, To Dream

AKA: The Crow: Dogs and Demons

Dimi: Nope, still not with the ownership. Maybe next time.

Authors: Dimitri Aidan, Aloysha, and Rochelle B

Rating: T/PG-13 at first, M/R or NC-17 eventually. Depends on where you encounter it.

Pairings: Remus/Sirius, Snape/Narcissa, Harry/Bill, Ron/Hermione, Draco/Ginny, Charlie/Tonks, and some other things that are still being worked out.

Warnings: Disturbing imagery, Blood, Violence, homicidal Sirius, and all around creepy Remus behavior. I'm pretty sure that therapy Sirius was thinking about would be helpful.

Notes: My mind is, at times, a scary place. I'm not usually much for 'action' scenes so I'm not sure how this turned out, what with Sirius being all homicidal and all. I'm more of a psychological writer; I like to pick brains apart, not bodies.

Oh, by that way, this is truly the chapter from hell. Cower before it.

Inspirational Lyrics: "Someone take these dreams away, that point me to another day " Nine Inch Nails, Dead Souls

"Speech"

'Thoughts/inner voices'

__

Flashbacks/Flash 'forward'

'Written things '

XX Scene Change XX

00 Passage of Time 00

Summary: Sometimes a person dies and not even coming back as a ghost can satisfy the soul. Sometimes a spirit is allowed another chance to make things right. Sometimes death is just the beginning.

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Chapter Five

Another Day

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Fudge twitched again, his throat still constricted by Sirius' arm. Remus wondered if he was about to pass out, but then there was a flash of yellow light. Sirius went flying back from the force of whatever spell Fudge had cast and slammed into the wall, hard. Remus heard the wood crack and saw Sirius double over, clutching his stomach. Fudge's wand was trained on him and, while rubbing his neck with his free hand, he smirked again.

"I'll take out two on one mission; the public will have no choice but to acknowledge that I am thoroughly in control. You should have stayed hidden where you were, Black."

Figured. War was being waged, people were dying all over the place everyday, and Fudge was still only concerned with his public image.

"Nah. Being dead is boring." Sirius looked up, hair brushed aside to expose eyes blacker than any shade that could possibly exist in nature, but also glowing brightly. Fudge made a noise like a gasp and backed away, wand shaking in his grip. The ameba had finally drawn their wands but they were shaking so badly they'd probably hit everything except Sirius at this rate. Sirius didn't look overly concerned as he moved into an easy crouch, hands flat on the floor.

"Dead?" Fudge looked like he wanted to sneer but couldn't work up the nerve. "What're you talking about?"

"You don't know? I fell through the veil, got bored, and decided to come back and give the life thing another go." Remus would have thought Sirius was discussing the weather or Quidditch, his tone was so unconcerned.

"People don't come back from the veil." Fudge did sneer this time, grip steadying. Apparently the fact that Sirius was crazy made him easier to attack. There was some kind of irony to that but Remus wasn't inclined to get too deeply into it.

"Okay." Sirius said agreeably and Fudge's calm demeanor visibly slipped. Luminous black eyes flickered over to Remus. "You're bleeding."

The werewolf looked down and saw that he had indeed bled through the washcloth. He shrugged, letting the piece of ruined cloth fall to the floor, catching on the wound and making it bleed anew.

"I am."

"Have I mentioned that you look terrible? Your house looks terrible as well and smells worse. I'm disappointed; I die for a few years and you-" Sirius was forced to fall silent as Fudge's wandtip erupted in a pale blue light. He moved to the side, missing the spell, and in the same fluid motion tackled Fudge. There was a soft clatter as the wand fell and rolled just out of arms' reach. Not that Fudge had a chance to reach for it with Sirius straddling him, one hand wrapped around his throat, and smiling crookedly.

His other hand came up to the side of Fudge's neck and his smile went from slightly amused to pure mirth. Sirius' muscles bunched then relaxed as he moved Fudge's neck sharply to the side, the faint sound of bone grinding over bone, then snapping, audible only to Remus' sensitive ears.

He looked away, not liking the sight of Fudge's neck twisted at an odd angle or the way his eyes were already beginning to glaze. The smell of death tickled his nose mockingly.

He found his eyes on the group of Ministry workers, all but one of whom had shrunken back against the wall and looked like they would have given their lives to be anywhere but where they currently were. The odd man out looked about twenty, maybe a touch younger, and had an air of arrogance to him.

Remus saw the words forming on his lips before he spoke them and was moving before he fully realized he could move. The wand was in his hand, wood crushing even as white hot magic crackled and burned his flesh. He wrenched the wand away, glaring and ignoring the stab of pain in his hand before thoroughly crushing it. He knew the imprint of the wand would be left on his palm, as one never touched the wand of a wizard mid-spell for fear of backlash.

Of course Remus had no such fears. Dark Magic protected it's own after all. Usually anyway…Remus had to admit he was not exactly in top condition at the moment.

Still, he'd be damned if he let some stupid kid kill Sirius…again…more…

He snarled and backhanded the kid who all but flew back into his colleagues, who jumped away from him instantly. No honor among murderers it seemed. He heard the movement behind him and could almost feel Sirius' presence at his back.

A low growl from Remus was all it took for them to flee out of the door and into the night, half-dragging their less sensible companion after them. Fudge clearly hadn't chosen that lot for their training or courage; probably no more than mere paper pushers eager to witness the first act of the law they had helped to pen.

He had thought Remus would be easy to take down and that he wouldn't need anything more than one trembling boy who happened to very good with a wand, in a practical sense anyway, to get it done. Clearly having his neck snapped by a convict hadn't been something he had expected. Plus the Aurors respected Remus, if for no other reason than that he'd fought along side of those currently in charge of that department, and wouldn't have aided on a mission like this.

Mad-Eye Moody would snort right about now and bark about 'CONSTANT VIGILANCE'.

Remus turned, Fudge dismissed from his mind, and stared at Sirius. Long black hair, longer than before, glowing black eyes, dressed completely in black, and paler than even Remus had managed as of yet. But still Sirius, as he remembered. He felt the world jump up and grow hazy. Arms wrapped around him and Remus sighed, offering no resistance to the embrace.

"Back to bed with you Moony. Then a shower; you smell terrible." He cracked an eye, having no idea when he'd closed them, and met the old blue-gray. Sirius smiled and Remus closed his eyes again.

The wolf howled, confused but pleased, and Remus was very much inclined to agree.

He didn't think they'd ever really agreed on anything before but…it was proving to be a strange day regardless, so why not?

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Sirius had, after some time, grown a little tired of watching Remus sleep. His breathing was even, if not a little shallow, and it didn't seem like he'd be waking up for a while. As much as he had missed his friend, in a general 'dead' kind of way, he didn't really want to sit around watching him sleep. It seemed really…unhealthy.

Sirius stood up, cracking his neck and trying to relive some of the tension that had gathered in his body as he sat. It didn't really help any and he sighed, reaching up to rub at his shoulders. He looked around the room, nose wrinkling again at the sight. It wasn't that Sirius was some kind of neat-freak, far from it really, but this went far beyond even his tolerance level. It should have been driving Remus crazy, heightened senses and all. He reached for the bottle nearest to him and moved it to the corner, kicking a few empty ones as he went.

Ten minutes later he'd managed to collect all of the bottles and stack them up, after emptying out the ones that were still half full. That done, he rocked back on his heels and scratched his head. What could he do now?

He was bored. It seemed really strange, after having realized he was dead, passing up an eternity with two of his best friends to climb back through the veil through that spirit-infested water only to find his only remaining friend in some kind of drunken stupor…but it was the truth. He was damn bored. He tilted his head off to the side, looking over at Remus as if the werewolf would offer some suggestion as to how to combat this new problem.

A strand of damp grimy hair slid in front of his eyes. He frowned and reached up again, realizing for the first time that his hair was slightly wet and felt…slimy to the touch. A glance down at himself found that, though he wasn't wet, he had seen better days. Clothes were dirty and his skin was much the same, as if…well, as if he'd taken a swim in a very dirty river. Long angry scratches and welts lined what skin he could see and he was a touch dismayed to see there were some tears in his shirt.

He'd really liked this one, too.

He turned and headed downstairs, stopping in the room next to Remus' to open up a few windows. The chill night air wafted in, caressing his skin and he shivered at the feeling. He stayed for another moment, watching the star-studded sky.

He could have never seen this again and probably would have never realized what he was missing. He'd never really been much for wide open meadows and blue skies anyway; that had always been Lily and James' thing. He preferred tangled forest and purple-black night and Remus had never been more at home than in the middle of a thunderstorm.

Sirius' lips quirked at that thought. More than once at Hogwarts he'd ventured out onto the Quidditch Pitch during terrible storms to find the brunette sitting on the stands, face tilted towards the sky as the rain came roaring down.

Blue skies weren't meant for people like them.

Sirius had always had a place in Remus' home. The house itself wasn't big or fancy, a simple two level with a basement that locked from the inside in the middle of the woods, but he'd made room for him whenever he asked. On the first floor, through the living room and down the tiny hallway was a bedroom and a bathroom.

When he'd come here after Harry's fourth year at Dumbledore's insistence he'd found his old room almost exactly as he'd left it. When he'd asked why Remus had never thrown out all of his things, which was what he'd have done if he thought Remus had betrayed Lily and James, the werewolf had shrugged and said he'd just locked the room up and tried to forget it was there. As much as he'd wanted to, getting rid of Sirius had never really been an option.

The best he could do was treat it like a reminder of the mistakes they'd all made.

It seemed old habits died hard. He turned the lock and pushed the door open to be confronted with an even deeper mustiness than upstairs. Dust covered everything from the dresser to the bed linens. The parchment and quill he'd been using before the move to his family's home was still sitting on top of the desk, undisturbed.

Sirius doubted he'd seen many things more wonderful in his lifetime.

A glance in the wardrobe revealed what clothing he hadn't taken when they'd left, along with an old pair of boots. He grabbed a t-shirt and jeans, always having been more for Muggle fashions than most wizards and finding them more interesting than robes.

It wasn't that hard really. Sirius had found that as long as it was all black he couldn't look too odd and since he was rather fond of the color to begin with… He'd even heard more than one Muggle-born witch commenting on how nice he dressed; not bad for someone who was raised to shun those not of pure blood, in his less than humble opinion.

He pushed open the door of the bathroom, dropping the clothes on the back of the toilet. The lights came up and the water began to run in the shower in accordance with old magical cues. He glanced back at his bedroom once more then shut the door to allow the forming steam to fill the small room. It billowed out along the floor and slowly began to creep its way upwards, twisting around him as he stripped off his clothes. He passed through the curtain and couldn't contain a soft sigh as hot water rained down on him, stinging the scratches in a not totally unpleasant way.

He rubbed at his shoulders again, trying to force himself to loosen up. Alone with only the sound of the shower breaking the silence, he tried to think.

There was something very…_odd_ going on.

Of course Sirius was all about the odd and what have you. After all, his best friend had fathered a child mentioned in one of two valid prophecies a certified kook had made, had taken out the most psycotic Wizard to live in a few centuries and, after said psycho returned from the dead, managed to avoid being killed at least once every school year. He himself had been raised to hate Muggleborns but the woman who'd made the biggest difference in his life was just that. He'd survived twelve years in Azkaban and came out none the worse for wear (that he was talking about anyway) where as others were driven shit-raving mad in half the time. Hell, he'd managed to escape the inescapable prison…unless you're last name was Black apparently, in which case escape wasn't that hard.

His other best friend was a werewolf, he himself was an animagi and his inner creature was, of all things, a Grim. And, along that vein of thought, he'd never noticed that he willingly trusted a guy whose inner creature was a rat.

Sirius was well acquainted with all that was weird, he'd like to think. But this…this whole coming back to life thing was just a bit much for him. Not that he was complaining or thinking of trading in this little miracle he'd managed to get himself, he was just saying…it was weird.

Coming back from the veil. Merlin…It was just…he wanted to say it was unheard of, impossible but so was escaping Azkaban.

Sirius had this uncanny ability to do the impossible. But escaping…that made sense. It was plausible, he knew how he'd managed it. He had no idea how he'd managed this little feat…well, he knew how he'd done it, of course but he didn't…understand how he'd done it.

He couldn't be the only person in the world who wanted to come back and he probably didn't have the best reason for returning out of the millions of souls that wanted to. There had to be thousands of souls in Styx, just flowing along and hoping to be a ghost at some point, so why was he here…like this.

Solid. Alive…

Or at least he assumed he was alive. He hadn't really thought to feel for a pulse or anything and now that the idea occurred to him he found he didn't really want to do it. Just in case. He didn't want to break or jinx whatever was going on.

It was doubtful he was going to figure it out in the shower, though he felt a little less tense as he stepped out and changed. He'd just have to ask Dumbledore when he got a chance. The man knew a great many things about magic, even so called 'Dark Magic' and would know better than most what exactly it took to bring a person back through the veil.

He opened the door, steam wafting out of the bathroom ahead of him, intent on going back upstairs to wait for Remus to awaken and then suggest they go to Hogwarts. They could be somewhere safe, away from Voldemort…assuming Voldemort was still around anyway. At the least they could be away from the Ministry, his 'vision' from earlier lurked at the corners of his mind, and make an attempt at trying to sort this mess out.

And he could see Harry. He hoped the boy hadn't taken his 'death' too badly.

His thoughts were dangerously derailed as his eyes fell upon a rather…unusual sight on his bed. A man…no, a boy, with long brownish-gold hair threaded with silver thread and what looked like glass beads. Amber eyes stared from beneath the fringe of his hair, almost shyly, as pale lips quirked into a soft smile. Dressed in all white he had a delicate, ethereal quality to him.

Then again, it could have been the fact he was sporting large white wings. Though they were currently folded the tips brushed the floor and he imagined that fully spread they would go from one wall to the other easily.

"Hi." His voice matched his form, light and gentle. He unfolded his legs and stood up, the beads in his hair casting rainbows on the walls. "It's quite the honor to meet you Mr. Black."

Sirius blinked at that. Not the first time, but still strange to hear someone refer to him as 'Mister'. To be brutally honest he'd just never seen himself getting old enough to be called that. It was weird, like an ill-fitting uniform or dress robe.

And he doubted anyone had ever been honored to meet him.

"As I'm sure you've become aware, you have recently returned to the world of the living, thus defying all of the laws of life and death as they currently stand. I, as a representative of the House of Life, am here with my partner to address this…anomaly." His voice lost it's gentle lilt and instead took on a very business-like tone.

"err." Sirius stared, trying to find something in that statement that made sense to him so he could latch onto it. "Partner."

The angel faltered, eyes darting around, then sighed. "Yes well…the House of Death runs on a very different schedule than that of the mortal plane and…he isn't here."

"Ah."

The angel shrugged lightly. "I don't really need his assistance anyway. I mean…he's Fallen. They're all a bit crazy; it's a House of Death Thing."

Sirius nodded even though he was pretty sure he didn't actually understand a single thing that had just been said. Well, he had an idea of course. House of Life, House of Death, opposites and probably opposed to one another. And if this was what angels actually looked like he could only imagine what demons, and he assumed that's what the House of Death would breed, must have looked like.

"Anyway. On the one hand, managing to come back to full life is really impressive and has never been done before. Ghosts, zombies, the walking dead sure but you…solid, not rotting, and not drinking blood." A wry smile quirked the angel's lips. "And all of that, giving up paradise and taking a dip in Hell to come back to a war."

"Hell?"

"Styx. It's the first level of hell. Most of those spirits were offered eternity in the Fields but choose to dive off of the bridge and will spend eternity crammed into that river, forever flowing and never managing to come back. The longer they are there the more their souls break down until eventually they just become part of Styx." He frowned briefly. "They're so close, if they could just grab the light and crawl to the shore they could come back in spirit form but most don't have the will to do it. They give in and all the other souls to pull them down."

Sirius shivered, wrapping his arms around himself as he recalled being in there, swallowed by the inky waters. And really, it hadn't been so much water now that he thought about it clearly, but a mass of…spirits he supposed. They were the river, moving over one another, packed in so tightly that if they hadn't already been dead they would have suffocated. No wonder they had been so furious with him and tried to keep him there.

He'd be a little bitter in their position as well.

"Even those who make it come back as ghosts but you…you kept your physical form in death by falling directly through the veil. You aren't the first of course but most are shunted off straight to the lower levels and their bodies fade over time." Amber eyes gleamed up at him, reminding him faintly of Remus only less…harsh. Warm. He smiled again. "You are truly an anomaly. You kept your body, had the will to return to life without so much as beginning to fade and you somehow took _IT_ inside of you on the way."

"You're drooling." A voice commented and Sirius was reminded of Lucius Malfoy, oily slick silk over the sweetest honey, somehow contained in a voice. "Sage, hero worship isn't attractive."

"Ha. Ha. Whore." The angel muttered. "Mr. Black, this is my partner…what name are we going by today? Demos? Loki? Lucifer?"

A figure seemed to melt from the shadows to stand next to the angel. Tall and pale with reddish-blond hair, pulled into a high ponytail, and cool violet eyes behind a pair of black framed glasses. He was dressed all in black and had large gray and silver wings coming from his back, folded in a way that they seemed to be a cloak…somehow not what Sirius would have expected from someone from the House of Death.

Not that he knew what to expect or anything…

"Ohh…Lucifer. That's always fun." Clawed hands danced over the angels shoulder. "I think the usual will do for today. I'm not in the mood for big productions."

"I did notice the lack of smoke and fire." The angel brushed the hand off and rocked back on his heels. "Did you want something Blair?"

"I want you to get to the damn point and stop acting like a groupie."

"I'll groupie you…wait. What does that mean?"

The redhead, Blair it seemed, smirked indulgently. "Heaven if I know. Sounds fun though."

Judging by the angel's face he wasn't amused. There was a definite tension between them but maybe that was to be expected. Good and Evil…kind of. Death wasn't really evil was it? Still, they were opposites and it seemed they were hyper-aware of it.

"Whatever."

"Are you here to take me back?" Seeing an Angel of Life hadn't been so worrisome, but Sirius doubted someone in charge of Death could have anything good planned for him. He swallowed, fingers twitching somewhat. God he wished he had his wand. He had no intentions of going without a fight, that much was for sure.

He was alive and he planned to stay that way until things were back in order and he was sure Harry and Remus would be okay.

The redhead blinked then shrugged. "We don't really care that you're back. In fact we think it will work out for the better in the long term. That guy…um, Voldemort? He's going to wipe out the Wizarding race with his fanaticism not to mention see thousands of souls never born. He's going to throw off the very balance of life and death if your godson doesn't succeed in killing him. If it takes one soul getting free to make sure it happens without us then who the hell gives, right?"

The angel snorted lowly. "Which is why a certain Fallen may have distracted a certain three headed dog when you were climbing out of Styx."

"Yeah, about that. Way to leave me with my arm getting gnawed off by Cerberus there Sage, greatly appreciated."

"It grew back." As if to prove that fact the angel poked his companion in the arm only to have a set of sharp looking teeth snapped mere centimeters from his finger.

"Why are you here? If it's not a problem." Sirius felt a flash of irritation. It figured he'd get the easily distracted Angel and Fallen (whatever the hell that was) to explain what the hell was going on. If they would just stay focused for three seconds.

They exchanged very loaded looks then Blair shrugged lightly. "Bored. Oh. Before I forget, there are some guys from the Ministry in the front hall. If you don't hurry up I'll be carrying off the werewolf's soul in the next ten minutes."

Sirius knew he was being lied to and distracted but, mind flashing back to that…whatever it was from when he'd been in the Department of Mysteries, he knew he couldn't stand here and demand answers. Besides, he wasn't even sure if he was awake or…if this was real.

It all seemed very surreal and somehow Angels were just the icing on the cake.

He turned and hurried back down the hall, figuring that if he hadn't completely lost his mind it wasn't like these angels couldn't just track him down later on. Remus was what was important now; anything else would just have to wait.

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Kitty: Oh yeah, Hangover to end all hangovers this is. Though, about that lover thing…not yet. And yeah, WTF is pretty much Moony's thought process. It doesn't make sense at all.

TNBD: This was actually written pre-HBP so I'm content in it's AU-ness. Sirius is still thought to be guilty, foul injustice though that is. Sirius did a little more than kick Fudge's ass, he went full on psycho vengeance and…yeah.

Mechante: Other fluids…you know you want to know. :P And we'll get into that whole 'Kids' thing later, though now we're engaged in a serious debate about Percy's parental potential. I, personally, weep for any children he may have (though I suppose if he was with Oliver it couldn't be all bad) but Chelle and 'Losha think the idea has potential. Ah…and Dean. Yeah. I have not a clue.

Next Chapter: We get back to Harry and Co for a bit and then we do the beginning of this chapter from Sirius' point of view and find out what made Padfoot snap.


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